


Because You Can

by floppysausage



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, M/M, Unrequited Gamzee Makara/Karkat Vantas, Unrequited John Egbert/Dave Strider - Freeform, black davegam is my life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 14:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5459414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floppysausage/pseuds/floppysausage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are brought together by mutual frustration.<br/>You stay together because no one else understands your pain better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic so please be gentle ; - ;  
> Constructive criticism is more than welcome

_He stands in the hall, soaked, his skin unpainted and bare. You, your hand still on the cold doorknob, can only stare as he fidgets. You stare at his emaciated figure, the drab clothes draped around it hanging loosely. You stare at his blue lips, cracked and set in a tight line. His pale fingers twitch at his sides and he drops his gaze in what could be interpreted as shame. When he turns his head, you glimpse the bruise blooming on the side of his face; the deep blue hues and green undertones seeming almost pretty. Down the hall, a door slams and you both flinch. He has gotten even taller, his shoulders even more broad. His dark eyes are stripped of the dreamy haze that used to cloud them and what’s underneath causes you to almost look away when they meet yours. "Why are you here?" you ask, your voice flat. As you stand, staring each other down, his lips begin to tremble. Suddenly, he breaks into sobs and is reduced to a pitiful, blubbering mass. When you reluctantly take him into your arms, reaching upward to compensate for your height difference, he clings to you like a small child. With that, you can’t help but be reminded of the old days._

* * *

__

The Clown Dude ambles down the hallway. People smile at him, call him over, he lazily nods but otherwise ignores them. Waving dismissively with a lanky arm, he continues on his way. The lockers lining the hallway are red, the paint peeling, and he scratches a flake off of his before entering the combination into his lock. He takes his time, turning the dial to each number carefully, his blue-violet eyes flicking back and forth between the lock and the open door of room 207 only a few feet away. The lock snaps open and he sticks his hand into the small cavern to reemerge with a large green textbook. In the few seconds he takes to struggle to his feet with the weight of the book tucked under his left arm the tiny black-haired boy he had been looking for has materialized beside him, struggling with his own locker combination. The indigo-eyed one watches him with such intensity that it is inevitable the object of his focus will notice, but he pretends not to. “Having difficulties, bro?” Clown Dude snickers. The other glares at him, but doesn’t reply. After a few more seconds of his silent struggle the taller boy, the one with the weird apparent clown obsession, gently pushes him aside. “What’s the combo?” Small and Grumpy scowls furiously before muttering a string of numbers. His friend (?) nods and proceeds to quickly twist the knob with nimble fingers and snap the lock open. “There you go,” he said, smirking subtly. The shorter boy thanks him grudgingly, grabs his books, and hurries off.

You have been observing this exchange from a distance. You haven’t notices that your fingers have been tapping against your thighs until they still. A mask of gray and white paint turns to face you and, eyes hidden behind dark lenses, you stare back at it. “Dave,” he greets insincerely. “Gamzee,” you say back, your voice lacking the tinge of hostility you weren’t surprised to hear in his. "'Sup?" you supply, and Gamzee sneers. "Nothing much. You enjoying lurking all creepy-like in the corners usually reserved for eavesdropping motherfuckers?” Despite his obvious attempt to rile you up, you just become vaguely amused. Not very, but enough to bring a grin to your face. “Dude, chill, I’m just waiting for John.” And you are, right outside room 207, the same room Karkat had come out of just a few minutes earlier. Of course it was a bonus that you got to see the little ray of sunshine, since the two of you have been friends ever since school started (he’s the only reason you even know Gamzee), but the real reason why you skipped Spanish and have been lingering outside the science building for the last hour was to be able to get in your daily dose of best bro. Gamzee gives you a look that you can’t decipher from his drug-reddened eyes, then strolls off without another word. Sighing, you lean back against the wall and close your eyes.You see more than he gives you credit for. You saw the way his eyes lingered in the hollow of Karkat‘s throat, the way his fingers brushed against Karkat‘s way more than was necessary. Maybe his motions were all the more noticeable because of their familiarity, but you don‘t really want to think about that. 

“Hey Dave!” John’s voice jolts you out of your reverie and you look up to see his stupid dork face beaming down at you. Puberty had been especially kind to him and despite the fact that he had been almost as much of a midget as Karkat in his middle school years, he’s now a good five inches taller than you. 

“Hey Egderp.” 

You and John have a rather odd relationship. You’ve known him for years and he’s easily your best friend. You also happen to be in love with him and he, the fucking asshat, knows that and doesn't do jack shit about it. Not that the topic has ever really come up between the two of you, but you would drop a few hints here and there and he would avoid them like how you avoid Bro’s creepy sex puppets. Basically, like the plague. You’re jerked out of your thoughts by a soft brush against your elbow. John looks at you with his big, impossibly blue eyes. “You coming?” he asks, his expression concerned rather than irritated. You hesitate, realizing you’re still leaning against the wall, the knee-jerk lie rising in your throat. “Sorry man, I was just thinking,” you tell him gently. He nods understandingly and, although you still accompany him to the school entrance, he doesn’t make any further attempts at conversation. Outside, Vriska is waiting for him. You always thought she was pretty, but not in an eye-catching way. Her prettiness is more defined by simplicity: unblemished skin, silky blonde locks that tumble in waves over her shoulders, clear blue eyes. She doesn’t appear to feel very friendly towards you, but after knowing her for a couple of years you've realized it's not personal, she's just a bitch. She jumps at John the moment she sees him, wrapping her legs around his waist like the parasite she is. She glares at you from behind John's shoulder. John strains under the extra weight to turn face you. “See you later,” he huffs and then they’re gone, vanished into the frantic post-school crowd. You stand there in the buzzing parking lot for a while, the rock in the flowing river. The only proof that they had been there at all is the faint scent of citrus and cinnamon: Vriska’s perfume. 

The first thing you always do when approaching your apartment building is take a quick peek into the garage. Sometimes it’s not there but today it is, a rusting baby-blue Ford. He’s here today. Your pulse quickens in anticipation as you climb the steps, but your mind is blank. The apartment door is slightly ajar, but otherwise everything is just as you left it. The inside is always slightly warmer than outside, dank and dark, like the cave of some beast. The air is thick and your nostrils flare at the strong stench of weed. All of the shades are drawn, but there is still enough light for you to see Dirk’s silhouette lounging on the sofa. Jake, his glasses set carelessly on the floor, straddles him. Jake is hunched over, Dirk propped up on his elbows, and at first you think they are kissing before seeing Jake's shuddering inhale as Dirk blows smoke between his parted lips. The gray tendrils not sucked into his mouth float up toward the ceiling. It's as beautiful as any scene from a crappy teenage vampire movie and almost seems like a tender, intimate moment before you're reminded that they're probably both high as balls. You take a brief moment to ponder why your entire family is determined not to reproduce, judging by the fact that you’re all flaming homos. Shrugging off your hesitancy, you step into the room. Only English pays any mind to your entrance, frowning stupidly in your direction as your brother leans back into the couch pillows with a sigh.

You and Dirk are fraternal twins, similar, but not identical, and it shows. You are shorter and muscular, while he's an awkward towering string bean. Being the freckled, nerdy and infuriatingly sarcastic douchebag he is you don't know what English sees in him, but they've been sorta-dating since middle school. What you mean by sorta-dating is that they'd go on unintentional dates and occasionally make out, as Dirk confessed to you in a rare moment of emotional vulnerability, but never actually confessed feelings for each other. You find this acceptable, but Dirk, in all his cliche anime splendor, insisted that nothing ever means anything until it is verbally confirmed. This is shit, in your opinion, but your brother is a fragile schoolgirl virgin who believes in tear-laden confessions and cheesy five hour phone calls that last until the wee hours of the night where other, more sensible people are either sleeping or beating their meat to low-quality porn. You wish you could say you don't understand how Dirk managed to establish a relationship, no matter how unstable, before you, but you do understand. The reason can be found in the deep blue eyes of John Egbert, in the smooth hollow at the base of his throat and the way his smile is so wide that you don’t know how you don’t find it terrifying. It can be found in how your fluttery kokoro goes all doki doki because he’s so sugoi oh shit you’re not Dirk why are you saying this-

It can be found in how he loves some bitch who isn’t you and you can’t find it in yourself to love someone who isn’t him. 

Anyways, that wasn't what you were talking about. What were you talking about again? Ah yes, Dirk. Dirk isn't your only brother. In fact, it was the other you were looking for as you rushed into the apartment. You leave Dirk and English to do their thing and step down the hallway, cautiously, almost expecting a flash of white and orange and spiky blond hair to pop out of nowhere and knock you to the ground. When nothing happens by the time you reach your bedroom door, you assume its safe to go in. 

Since you and Dirk both get your own rooms and you live in a crappy two-bedroom apartment, Bro usually sleeps on the couch. However, on other occasions, such as when Dirk and English are busy getting his sleeping space all wet with their vaginas, he decides to take over your bed. This is where you find him now, collapsed fully dressed on top of your mattress. Loud snores emanate from the pillow his face is buried in and, although you're a bit disappointed you won't have the catching-up time getting off work early usually provides you two with, you're relieved he's finding the time to rest. He doesn't even stir as you take off his shoes and drape one of the extra blankets you find in the closet over his torso. The blanket is ironically covered in Hello Kitty faces, of course, but as a bonus it is unarguably the softest thing on the planet. When you're finished tucking in your thirty-five year old brother, you gaze at him for a few seconds. Then, you leave the room, shutting the door quietly behind you, and go into Dirk's. Knowing that he won't be coming in any time soon, you fall back onto his bed, jostling your shades as you do so, and stare listlessly up at the ceiling. With a sinking feeling of dismay, you realize that your day was over before it even began and roll over on your side. 

It’s been the same old routine for years: wake up, eat, lust after John, eat, strife with Bro, sleep. There’s the occasional bump in the system, like when John first started dating Vriska or when you had a weird friends-with-benefits fling with some dude you accidentally overheard jerking himself in the bathrooms one day. He put a stop to it before long though, and it was back to the same old. Sighing, you shake the various machine parts out of Dirk’s sheets (how the fuck does he even sleep in this) and slide yourself under the covers. You had approximately zero hours of sleep last night and Dirk can screw himself up the ass with a rusty spoon if he thinks he can reclaim his bed. Before allowing yourself to drift in the limbo between consciousness and sleep you think that tomorrow you should go to Karkat’s.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I thought it would be a good idea to start a fic at the busiest time of the year... oh well at least I managed to pop out another crappy chapter

Dirk wakes you at four in the morning by collapsing on top of you. You jump up, letting loose a profane stream of expletives that would put Karkat to shame, and Dirk settles in the empty space your body had previously occupied. You smack him as he promptly falls asleep, but otherwise leave him be. He didn't really seem to care/notice that you were there and even douchebags need their sleep. Besides, Bro is usually awake at this time.  
You impale your feet on just about every pointy metal object laying on Dirk's bedroom floor on your way out towards the light seeping from the crack beneath his closed door. Since Dirk is completely and utterly trashed to the point of being impossible to wake you don't bother with censoring yourself. Before closing the door behind you, you catch a glimpse of his freckled skin, tainted a gentle blue by the darkness.

  
You find Bro in the bathroom, washing his face. You look less like him than Dirk does, Dirk is practically his younger clone, but you like to think that you and Bro get along better. You both happen to be blessed with an actual sense of humor and inexplicable coolness. He knows you're there, leaning against the doorway, but he doesn't meet your stare even after toweling his face dry.  
He must have had another bad day yesterday.

  
“Hey Bro,” you greet him and finally, finally he looks up, defeat lining his eyes. With a wince, you take note of the bruise blooming across the left side of his face. You hadn't noticed that yesterday.

  
“Whaddaya want, 'lil man?” Bro asks, sliding his shades back onto the bridge of his nose. He looks embarrassed in a rather sad way and you're starting to wish you hadn't bothered him so early.

  
“We just haven't caught up in a while is all,” you say lamely, your monotonous voice not betraying the small twinge of worry residing in your chest.  
It's true. Bro works for most of the night and when he's not at work he's sleeping. His occupation doesn't treat him too well, so even on his days off he usually either shuts himself into your room or sleeps.  
Bro sighs and runs his fingers through the golden spikes of his hair. He's tired, which is normal for him, but usually it doesn't make him act so defeated. Most times, after a crappy day he'll storm into the apartment growling about fucking stupid customers and throw a sword at you or Dirk, occasionally both, and pace on the roof until one of you showed up. Honestly you're better at dealing with Bro when he's like that, since you're so similar to him you'd much rather get beaten to a pulp than talk about (insert shudder here) feelings.  
Bro seems to sense this, for after a tense silence he rolls his eyes behind his shades and smacks you in the head.

  
“There's not much to talk about on my side. I got roughed up a bit last night, but I don't really wanna talk about it. Besides, thanks to that I get the whole week off until the bruises fade.”  
After he finishes he looks at you expectantly and you realize that wow okay you're really doing this right here in the bathroom.

  
“It's not like anything is really going on for me,” you explain quickly.

  
“I just wanted to kinda… I dunno… check in.”

  
Trailing off lamely, you take note of Bro's skeptical expression.

  
“Having Egbert issues?”

  
“Yup.”

  
“That kid still an idiot?”

  
“Yup.”

  
Once the second awkward silence passes, Bro shoves past you into the hallway.

  
“I'm tired as fuck, so don't expect me up till five. If I sleep past that, wake me up for dinner,” he calls over his shoulder.

Inwardly flinching at the horrifying prospect of waking him up, you invent an excuse on the spot.

  
“I can't, I'm gonna be at Karkat's.”

  
Bro groans before disappearing into your room.  
“Ugh, that kid's almost as much of an idiot as John. Tell Dirk to order pizza.”  
“Yessir,” you respond sarcastically under your breath.

  
Well, you'd been planning on going to Karkat's anyway, so you guess it all works out. He had texted you on Thursday planning some video game marathon on his shitty Wii and you weren't gonna go until he challenged your title as Mario Kart champion. No one challenges your Mario Kart expertise and gets away with it.  
You head to the kitchen and on your way you're disturbingly unsurprised to find English still on your couch. He appears to be somewhat awake and squints at you with bloodshot eyes as you pour yourself a bowl of Froot Loops. Breakfast of kings. When you shake the box at him he turns a little green and rolls over. Shrugging, you redirect your focus to shoveling heaps of fruity goodness in your mouth. Your bowl is soon placed in the sink along with two weeks worth of dirty dishes, which you are hoping English will find it in his hospitable heart to wash, being the domestic housewife he not-so-secretly is deep down.

  
“Dirk,” you say once you find yourself outside your brother’s room. No reply.

  
“Dirk,” you repeat, a little louder. A muffled grunt is your only response.

  
“I'm going out, so you order pizza for you and Bro. He said to wake him up for dinner.”  
There is a pause, then Dirk's eloquence bursts forth as another grunt. You take that as your cue to leave. Back in the living room English is sitting up, his dark hair sticking every which way. He still looks rather dazed, but you have no qualms about kicking him off the couch. It's only seven and you need your beauty sleep.  
“Go cuddle with your waifu, he’s in his room,” you say in response to his protesting yelp and fall with a contented exhale into the stained pillows. You set your alarm for three.

* * *

 

Karkat lives on his own for the most part, his dad's job often takes him overseas, which is why when you let yourself into their house through the back door there is no sign that it is ever inhabited by anyone other than a filthy high school boy. Empty takeout cartons litter nearly every flat surface and you're pretty sure those are boxers draped over one of the chairs in the dining room. Trying to avoid stepping in leftover chow mein or the puddle of tomato soup soaking into the carpet, you search for the door that leads to the basement. You think it's the one next to the kitchen, and your suspicions are confirmed by the loud, angry monologue your ears are blessed with as soon as you turn the handle and pull.

  
“-holy shit turn left turn left LEFT YOU THUMB TWIDDLING FUCKWIT, IS YOUR PITIFUL EXCUSE OF A BRAIN SO FRIED YOU CAN'T TELL LEFT FROM RIGHT oh great now you're dead what did I fucking tell you-”

 

“Hey Sunshine,” you call down the stairs, “is this a bad time? Because I can always just turn this pretty ass around and find some other mortal else to bless with my presence.”

  
Pause.

  
“Strider, fuck off.”

  
Another pause.

  
“Not literally, get your disgustingly egotistical self down here.”

  
Chuckling under your breath, you make your way down the stairs. The only light in the windowless room comes from the giant TV, around which is placed a sofa and a few chairs. Sollux, whose brother is friends with Karkat's, is sitting in one of the chairs, with Karkat himself perched on its arm. Your lip curls slightly as you notice Gamzee spread out across the couch. He isn’t wearing his stupid clown paint for once, his skin is its natural pale olive tone all over, and you’re surprised to see that without it he doesn’t still look like a total creep. Sollux and Gamzee both hold controllers while Karkat mutters comments under his breath. Sollux is, of course, beating Gamzee's stoned ass, but the weirdo just looks on with a dopey grin and hits seemingly random buttons with an air of disinterest.

  
“Nice ensemble you got going on.”

  
Karkat rolls his eyes at your sarcasm, but points you over to one of the chairs. You oblige, taking satisfaction in Gamzee's double take as he spots you.

  
“Ugh,” he mumbles and pounds on more buttons.

  
“You just made yourself explode,” you point out helpfully.

  
After around twenty more minutes of spontaneous combustion, you decide to take matters into your own hands.  
“Throw it here,” you tell an increasingly frustrated Gamzee. He glares at you, but after a few words from Karkat he tosses the controller at your head.  
You grin at him confidently and turn back to the screen.

  
“Watch and learn, young Padawan.”

  
Within two minutes, you are squished flat by Sollux, who simply smirks and passes his controller to Karkat. Gamzee snickers as the corners of your mouth turn downwards.

  
“Wow. I am really out of practice,” you say flatly.

  
“Apparently,” laughs Sollux, the first word he's said since you got here.

  
You are the one to suggest ordering Chinese, and the others agree, but only if you pay. Both you and Sollux head up the stairs; you so that you can order without Karkat cussing in your ear and Sollux to adjust his contacts, one of which had slipped. He stumbles a bit on the last step and you have to guide him towards the bathroom.

  
“Fuck, sorry, I can't see for shit.”

  
“S'cool, man.”

  
You sit just outside the basement door while you order. You only brought about thirty bucks with you, so you get the cheapest crap you can. Knowing everyone will have to relocate in order to hear when the food gets here, you go back downstairs, leaving the basement door open.  
The room is surprisingly quiet, but the light from the TV still flickers. You linger on the stairs for a few apprehensive seconds. Silence. Worry starts to get the best of you, but just as you're about to continue down-

  
“Back off.”

  
Karkat's quiet but firm voice sounds louder than it really is. It is lacking its usual rage, but has an underlying tone of authority which alerts you as odd. You stay hidden just in case.

“But you still haven't answered me,” Gamzee's breathy voice almost whines. There's a noise behind you and when you turn there's Sollux, at the top of the stairs. You hold up a hand, signaling for him to stay put.  
Karkat sighs, and there's some shifting.

“I'm answering you now. Back off. They're gonna come back soon.”

  
You take that as your cue.

  
“Oi, food's gonna be here in fifteen so let's head up,” you state, poking your head around the corner. Karkat immediately stands, his expression stony, but Gamzee, who had moved to the chair you had previously been occupying, won't even turn to look at you.

  
“Come on man,” you say, softer than you normally would. You don't like the guy, but it doesn't mean you don't get what just happened, and friendzones suck. Finally he gets up, hands shoved into his pockets, and pushes past you. What you see in his face is painfully familiar, and you hesitantly pat him on the back as he passes. He glances back, and his eyes shine a furious blue in the white light of the screen. A shiver rips up your spine, but once he sees you're serious he relaxes.

  
Once you're all sitting around the dining table, talking and laughing like usual, Sollux shoots you a few confused glances, but you pretend not to notice. You give the same treatment to the undergarments you noticed when you first came in that are still hanging loosely from the chair Gamzee is now occupying.  
The Chinese takes ten minutes longer than it had promised, but you still tip the delivery boy generously, which turns out to be a huge mistake because the food is utter crap. You all devour it ravenously anyway, shoveling it into your maws with cheap wooden chopsticks. Gamzee, the unsophisticated bastard, just uses his fingers. Surprisingly, he acts the same as usual, same dopey smile and unfunny jokes. You catch yourself staring at him a few times, but if he notices he doesn’t let on. Karkat is strangely subdued, but seeing as the whole situation you had accidentally witnessed just kinda made everything slightly more awkward, it’s understandable. As he chuckles quietly at something Sollux said and doesn’t even take a jab at you when you make some stupid comment, you start to wonder if you like him better like this.

  
“I hate to dine and ditch, but I have church tomorrow and unfortunately I have to wake up at seven,” Sollux groans eventually, standing and stretching. You can practically count his ribs through his shirt. He must have taken his contacts off when he was in the bathroom because, when his eyes open after an enormous yawn, one glints a watery blue.  
You push a carton of noodles across the table.

  
“I’m gonna be shitting nothing but pure grease for the next two days, so do me a favor and take some leftovers,” you groan. Karkat mumbles agreement.

  
“You need the weight anyway,” you add with a smirk.

  
Sollux flips you off, but grabs the carton anyway anyway before disappearing behind the front door with a “See ya KK.”

  
“Hopefully not, dickweed,” Karkat responds cheerfully.

  
The door slams and you are left as a partaker in an awkward silence war. When you look to your left Gamzee is playing with a noodle, slapping it against the table repeatedly. To your right, Karkat is staring dolefully into a carton of rice. Resisting the urge to facepalm (you’re too cool for that anyway) you lean back in your chair and let out a long exhale.

  
“I need a smoke,” is your excuse when you step out onto the porch. You don’t smoke, although Dirk does, but they don’t know that. As you lounge on the banister, the wood digging painfully into your ass bones, you consider going back home. You were planning on crashing on the couch, but obviously the two of them have issues they need to sort out.

  
Karkat seems to have picked up on the fact that you left to give them privacy and his raised voice can be heard even from where you are. You are nothing if not a man of virtue and respect, so you try not to listen in. However, fragments of “back off” and “not interested” still manage to find their way to your totally uninterested ears. Gamzee is silent, but knowing him he’s probably just zoning his way through the lecture, thinking about weed and Faygo and whatever stoner clown enthusiasts usually think about. You aren’t really surprised when the door swings a few minutes later and said stoner clown enthusiast is swiftly thrust out onto the welcome mat, door slamming behind him. He is wearing a pokerface to rival yours, and his only response to your unimpressed stare is, “The fuck are you looking at?”

  
You slide off the banister to lean against it instead, failing to ignore a pang of sympathy. Gamzee, apparently not wanting to leave just yet, ran a hand through his tangled mess of black hair and proceeded to sit down just where he was.

  
Wow, awkward silences are just completely unavoidable today, aren’t they.

  
“Harsh,” you say in your boredom, just to be a little bit cruel. Gamzee looks as though he is gonna snap at you, but then his eyes return to their half-lidded lizard state and he just sighs instead. You wish you could take it back when he mumbles a little “yeah” in agreement and stares at his feet. Instead you do the next best thing: humiliate yourself.  
“I know what it’s like, man,” you say, looking over your shoulder at the street. Gamzee chuckles.

  
“I know.”

  
When you swivel your head over to glare at him curiously, one of his eyebrows is cocked and a smirk pulls at a corner of his lips.

  
“You be all up and crushing on that derpy motherfucker with the weirdass teeth. You ain’t as conspicuous as you be thinking you are,” he continues. You groan and slide to the ground.

  
“But you’re _high as balls_ , if you noticed that means oh fuck everyone must know oh shitting Jesus on a stick-” Gamzee cuts you off by throwing his shoe at you. It hits you in the neck and you scowl at him and throw it right back, but harder.

  
“I notice things too, bro,” he says softly, cradling his one shoe in the crook of his elbow and absently fingering the quickly darkening new mark on his cheekbone. His face is gentled by empathy.

  
“I may not be the sharpest tool in the motherfucking shed, but I sure ain’t everyone. I wouldn’t worry your little head about it.”

  
In that moment, where you stare at him and he stares at you, he almost seems friendly. Caught off guard, you catch yourself thinking that his ruffled hair looks soft. The air of tension that usually simmers between you both has been forgotten and, just for that moment, you nearly forget you hate him. Your surprise is probably what causes you to open your mouth.

  
“Fuck off,” you say, then turn away before you can see his face harden again. You are frustrated, at him, at yourself, at the people who made you both this way.  
You hate him, but at the same time you want to comfort him, probably because he reminds yourself so much of you.

  
He's alone. You're alone.

  
When you hear him shuffling, you know he's going to leave. He's going to leave you here, alone, and disappear into the darkness of the street. What spurs you into action is knowing that he doesn't want to be alone any more than you do.

  
“Wait,” you murmur softly and stand up, brushing yourself off. He pauses, already blending into the shadows. Making your way down the steps you reach out for him. Your hands meet warm cloth, press against tensed muscles, and when you find yourself where you wanted to be, close enough so that if you looked up your noses would brush, you find you have nothing to say.

  
“I just-” you begin to whisper before he covers your words with his mouth and swallows them. His lips are gentle and chaste and taste slightly like kung pao chicken and marijuana, but his heart beats loudly under the light touch of your fingertips.

  
The last thing you remember feeling that night is the somehow miserable joy of finding someone else who gets it.


End file.
